Chapter 43 The Last Breath

• ZOE
• The restaurant stood on one of Geneva's oldest corners, with wrought iron balconies and velvet curtains that barely allowed the warm light of the chandeliers to filter through. Each table had its own nook, as if the place had been designed for secrets—for lovers who didn't want to be seen, or for traitors who didn't want to be discovered. Ethan helped me take off my coat with that precise courtesy of his, measured to the millimeter, and offered me the chair as if we were in the previous century. Everything about him was perfectly calibrated: the knot of his tie, the faint gleam of his watch, the smile that never quite reached his eyes but always managed to deceive the soul. And although I still felt like a stranger in my own skin, he managed to make everything seem like a well-rehearsed performance. An evening without cracks.
• Everything was wrapped in a sober elegance that felt from another era, a small luxury refuge hidden among Geneva's cobbled streets. The walls decorated with old paintings and golden moldings, the warm light from the chandeliers hanging from the ceiling—everything conspired to create an intimate, almost sacred atmosphere. Barely a couple dozen diners whispered between tables separated by thick red velvet curtains, as if sharing a forbidden secret. The scent of polished wood, aged wine, and carefully prepared food mingled with the tension pressing against my chest.